Another Holmes for the Fall
by calgarry
Summary: After Sherlock's apparent death in TRF, John realises he knew practically nothing about his friend. He delves into Sherlock's past to find the truth about the man he lived with. But what will happen when a shadowy figure from Sherlock's past shows up on the doorstep of 221B? Post-Reichenbach, eventual JohnxOC
1. Chapter 1

**This is a story inspired by Captain Xena-Mation's great story 'When a Family Falls'. It contains her OC, Charlene, so this story will make more sense if you read that first.**

**fanfiction dot net /s/9485206/1/When-a-family-falls**

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Two weeks after John Watson moved back into 221B Baker Street, Mrs Hudson visited him in his flat, bringing freshly-baked blueberry muffins as a present. Blueberry had been Sherlock's favourite, but neither mentioned that. They sat together and ate companionably, glad things were back to normal. Well, almost normal.

Mrs Hudson eventually brought up the subject of Sherlock's belongings. "I didn't touch them, like I said. But I was wondering if you had any plans for them? There are lots of boxes and such, in his cupboards and in the attic."

John sighed. "I'll get round to clearing them out sometime. I'm a bit busy at the moment, but soon. Next weekend."

It was actually three more weeks before John could muster the strength, both physically and mentally, to shift the boxes out of Sherlock's room. The wardrobe was full of them, all different shapes and sizes and weights. He could have called a friend to help him, but he wanted to do the task alone. Somehow, he felt he owed it to Sherlock.

He started early in the morning. It was the middle of the afternoon when John finally stood in the middle of the living room, gazing at the large piles of boxes in front of him. He was rather daunted at the prospect of going through all of Sherlock's belongings, but nonetheless he rolled up his sleeves, knelt on the floor and got to work.

He opened the first box, small and thin, and looked inside. It was empty. He sighed and put that to one side, and opened the next. It was large and flat, and full of papers.

John pulled a few out of the top of the box, and sighed. It was full of old bank statements, tax returns, and all sorts of normal paperwork that he wouldn't have associated with Sherlock. He reached in and grabbed one from the bottom of the box, and sighed when he found it was dated fifteen years earlier. This is going to take a long time, he thought, rifling through the box again.

When Mrs Hudson came up to visit John at tea time, she found him knee-deep in papers of all colours and sizes, concentrating hard. She smiled and left him to his work, heading back downstairs to do battle with her malfunctioning cellphone.

A long while later, John looked at the clock and was surprised to find that it was two in the morning. He stretched and looked at the complete darkness outside, rubbing his eyes. He had been so engrossed in his work that he had hardly noticed the time passing.

As John got up and shuffled off towards his bed, he realised that he had not learnt anything about Sherlock from going through his papers. He had finished twelve and a half boxes, containing bank statements, tax returns, school reports, exam results, and letters. All they told him was that his friend had been smart, and good at school, and paid his taxes on time.

In fact, John thought as he lay down in his bed, Sherlock knew a lot about him, most of which he'd learnt by looking at him the first time they met. But John knew barely anything about Sherlock, except that he was an insufferable git at times, and was unbelievably brilliant.

The last thought John had before drifting off to sleep was that he should try and find out more about Sherlock. What had he been like as a child? When did he move into 221B? He had been an addict, what was the story surrounding that? I'll find out in the morning, he decided before sleep eventually overtook him and he drifted off.

o0o0o

John woke up late the next morning, which was no surprise, given that he had been awake until the small hours of the morning. He padded downstairs and saw the boxes still lying on the floor as he had left them, half-sorted. He got dressed and ready quickly, and hurried out the door.

Half an hour later, John was sitting in the Stranger's Room at the Diogenes Club, waiting for Mycroft to deign to join him. He had been waiting for a while when he heard the door open behind him, and he twisted around to see the British government step through the door quietly and sit in the chair opposite John. He leaned forward and steepled his hands expectantly. "And what can I do for you, doctor?" he inquired.

John leaned forward also, hoping to intimidate Mycroft. "I want to know about Sherlock."

Mycroft leaned backwards in his chair, looking relaxed and at ease, not at all intimidated. "He was your flatmate. I'm sure you've seen more of him lately than I have, Dr Watson."

John stayed leaning forwards. "I'm sure you've been watching him, Mycroft. But that's beside the point. I want to know about Sherlock as a person. His childhood. What he was like before I met him. Can you at least tell me that?"

Mycroft's mouth tightened slightly, almost imperceptibly, at the mention of Sherlock's childhood. "I think you really don't want the answer to that question, Dr Watson," he said dismissively.

John sat back in his chair. "I think you really don't want to tell me the answer to that question, Mr Holmes," he said, deliberately using the other man's full name.

Mycroft shifted slightly in his seat. "And if I do not?"

"Why won't you tell me? I have a right to know!"

"Do you, Dr Watson? What makes you think you have _the right_ to demand anything? Are you my late brother's next of kin?"

John frowned. "No, but-"

Mycroft continued, cutting him off. "Do you have any evidence that shows that you should be allowed unlimited information about Sherlock?"

"No, but-"

"So what _right_ do you have?"

"Well, none, but-"

"I thought as much. Good day, Dr Watson." And with that, Mycroft stood up and swept out of the room, leaving John wondering what had just happened.


	2. Chapter 2

John entered the hallway of 221B just as Mrs Hudson was coming out of her flat. He smiled at her, and was about to head upstairs when he was struck by an idea. "Mrs Hudson," he said, turning back around to face his landlady, "can you tell me about Sherlock?"

o0o0o

Five minutes later, John was sitting in Mrs Hudson's living room with a cup of tea balanced on his lap. He watched as his landlady sat down, then turned her attention to John. "Well, dear? What do you want to know?"

John cleared his throat. "Uh, well, I was wondering about Sherlock. What he was like before I knew him. Like when you met him, what was he like then?"

Mrs Hudson smiled slightly. "I remember the first time I met him. We were both in the States. He was in a rehabilitation facility, and I was working there."

"You worked in a rehab facility? In America?" This was news to John.

"Yes. My husband worked there, see, as an engineer of some sort. I never quite worked out what he did. Something to do with bridges. Anyway, I worked in the kitchen. I used to deliver the patients their meals. One day, I was taking lunch to a new person, whose brother had sent him. I walked in, and there was a young man there, British, with a pale face. But what really stuck with me was that he was able to tell me everything about me, even things I didn't know.

"I was a bit scared at first, to tell the truth. I put the tray down quickly, and left. But the next time I went in, he was friendlier, and over time we grew close together. It was nice to have someone from home to talk to, you know, someone with the right accent." Mrs Hudson gave a small, wistful smile. "We became good friends. It was nice.

"One day, we had been talking, and I was just about to leave when he told me to watch out for my husband. I didn't know what he meant, until a couple of nights later, when my husband…" She trailed off, and John couldn't help but move over to her sofa and put an arm around her. Mrs Hudson straightened up, and said, "A couple of nights later, when my husband first hit me."

John gasped and covered his mouth. He suddenly felt anger towards Mr Hudson, whom he had never met, and a sense of protectiveness towards his landlady-not-housekeeper. Mrs Hudson gave a grim smile. "I was too scared to leave, to be honest. I'd always loved Mr Hudson, and I thought he loved me too. Apparently I was wrong. He kept on doing it, night after night. He'd just get so angry with everything, with the world. With me.

"And then, several months later, he got into a fight in a pub. The police came to my door to tell me that he had killed another man in cold blood. At first I was disbelieving, then I realised that yes, he was capable of doing such a thing. He was put on trial for murder. His lawyer was trying to get the charge reduced to manslaughter, saying that he was a charming man who wouldn't hurt a fly. I was too scared to speak up, to do anything.

"Sherlock was the one who convinced me that it would be better to tell the truth. Eventually I managed to give evidence, telling the truth. That he was a monster. He was tried and found guilty, and…well, I think you know what happened next.

"Sherlock got out of rehab a little while later, and came back to the UK. He offered to take me with him, but I refused. I came six months after that, and bought this place. I lost contact with Sherlock, and I was surprised when he turned up on the doorstep more than a year later, asking how much it was for the flat. The old occupant had only moved out that morning, I hadn't even put the sign out yet, but he knew of course. I told him how much it was, and he said there would be someone along to view it with him later that day. Then you turned up, and I couldn't help but think that you two were, you know…"

"Gay," John finished, smiling. "You and about half of London, it seems."

Mrs Hudson laughed. "Yes. Well, that's all I know about Sherlock Holmes. Poor man. It's a shame he had to, well, you know."

John frowned. "What do you mean, 'had to'?"

"Well, I wouldn't think he'd be the sort of man to jump like that, do you? I mean, there are better ways to go, surely. And I don't believe, not for one second, that he lied. I think he was lying that he lied, if that makes sense. But I don't know, I'm not a detective, not like you are. But I don't think that Sherlock was a fake." Mrs Hudson got up and started to clear away the tea-cups, heading into the kitchen. John called out a farewell and let himself out of the flat, deep in thought.

o0o0o

Greg Lestrade downed the last of his pint and set his glass on the bar. "Your round," he said cheerfully the John, who pulled a face and called the bartender over.

When the drinks were poured, Greg raised his glass in a toast to John. "Cheers." He took a sip, then turned his attention back to the man next to him. "So, what did you want to ask me about?" he inquired in a friendly tone.

John took a sip of his drink. "I wanted to know about Sherlock."

Lestrade raised an eyebrow. "Sherlock?"

"Yeah, Sherlock. You remember, the consulting detective who solved more than half your cases these past couple of years?"

"Yeah, I think I know who Sherlock is, thanks. What I meant was, why do you want to know about Sherlock? You were his flatmate, after all."

"True, but I didn't know him very long. I was wondering what he was like before I met him. Like, when did you meet him?

Lestrade sighed and took a long drink. "It's sort of funny in retrospect, but it sure as heck wasn't at the time. I was a Detective Sergeant, desperate to be promoted. We'd got wind of a drugs den down by the Thames, and we were going to investigate. I was leading the raid. We had the drugs dogs and everything. It was exciting, because I was sure that if I could do this properly, I'd be sure to get a promotion.

"We went charging in, and arrested I think seven people. But there was one person standing outside, not doing anything. It was of course Sherlock. He was obviously just going out, but we searched him and he didn't have anything on him. The dogs couldn't smell anything, blood tests came up negative. He was clean.

"The thing was, he looked like an addict. He was pale, jumpy, fidgeting. But we couldn't pi anything on him, so we had to let him go, after he told two of my officers that their respective spouses were cheating on them. Oh, and he insulted everybody there, of course. He cost me my promotion, indirectly."

John stifled a laugh, and Lestrade smiled. "So, how did he get involved with solving crimes?" John asked, still grinning.

Greg smiled as well. "About a month after the bust, we caught him nosing around a crime scene. It was a nasty case, a serial killer. The guy was trying to be a modern-day Jack the Ripper, disembowelling his victims and everything. It was awful." Lestrade winced at the memory.

"Well, of course Sherlock came in and solved it in ten minutes flat, before he was ordered away. Well, forcibly taken away, actually. He kept coming back though. He was like a shadow, a small, thin, pale shadow in a large coat. At first, I didn't believe half of his deductions, but there were a couple that sounded legit. I suggested them to my boss, and got promoted for solving the crime. No one believed me that an addict had solved the cases, so I took the credit. It was easier.

"Then one day, I was really stuck on a case. I saw Sherlock out on the street, and followed him home and asked him for help. He sort of smirked at me and replied condescendingly that if I observed things, I wouldn't need help. But he came, and he solved the case. After that, I kept on asking him, and he kept on solving cases. He wouldn't accept any money. He did it for the thrill of it, I think.

"Then I got a message saying that he'd moved into a flat at 221B Baker Street. We needed help in the serial suicides case, so I went there. And the rest, as they say, is history." He laughed. "I never thought I'd say that, to be honest."

John smiled also, then grew thoughtful again. "Hm. I wouldn't have picked Sherlock out to be an addict, as you know. I didn't think…I don't know what I thought, to be honest." He grew more cheerful. "But know, in return for your story, I have good news for you!"

Lestrade perked up. "Yes?"

John grinned. "It's your round!" he said, then ducked as his friend pretended to hit him.


	3. Chapter 3

Molly Hooper stood at her locker in the dismal room in the hospital, taking off her lab coat. As she opened her locker door, she caught a glimpse in the mirror of someone standing behind her, and she gave a little shriek and spun around. John stood there, swaying slightly, looking apologetic. "Sorry," he said, "I didn't mean to scare you." He was obviously drunk, but nonetheless Molly relaxed, relieved that it was someone she knew and trusted.

"No, no, it's quite all right, it's just…unexpected, is all." She gathered herself and smiled. "Can I help you, John?"

John moved a little closer. She could smell the alcohol on his breath. "I was wondering if you could tell me about Sherlock."

Molly stiffened and subconsciously grabbed the locker door behind her, looking defensive. "What about Sherlock?"

"I was wondering if you could tell me what you know about him. You know, like when you met him, what he was like. That sort of thing."

Molly relaxed slightly, but still looked wary. "I'm sorry, John, really sorry, but I'm afraid I can't help you. You see, I'm late, and I have to go…bye," she said hurriedly, packing her bag and pushing past John.

Once again, John was left standing in the middle of a room, wondering what had just happened. Ah well, he thought as he shrugged and walked out, it was rather a personal question.

o0o0o

John sat on the sofa in his flat, staring out at the relentless rain lashing at the windows. In his mind, he went over what he had learned about Sherlock Holmes.

He had evidently become addicted to cocaine at some point when he was younger. Mycroft disapproved of this – which would explain his reluctance to talk to John – and sent him to rehab in America. There, Sherlock became friends with Mrs Hudson, and helped her to get her husband executed. He then got out of rehab, and came back to the UK, where he stayed off drugs (mostly). He met Lestrade, and solved crimes for him. One day, sometime after that, Sherlock spoke to Mike Stamford and mentioned that he needed a flatmate. Later that day, John also spoke to Mike, and John and Sherlock met. They became friends, despite people thinking they were a couple, and went around solving crimes together. Well, Sherlock solved crimes, and John followed him around like a hedgehog. This went on until the day of the hospital, as John thought of it. The Day of the Jump. The Day of the Fall. But why?

John realised something. What he really wanted to know was, why did Sherlock jump? Why not wait for things to blow over? John did not for one second believe that Sherlock had been a fake. So why jump like that? What was the reason? He had hoped that the reason would be in his past, but that proved to be fruitless. He was at a loss.

"Who were you, Sherlock?" John whispered to himself, still staring out the window. "Why did you jump?"

As if in answer to his question, the doorbell to 221B rang abruptly, startling John. He quickly analysed the bell – tentative pressure for almost a second. Not a client, a stranger, someone in a hurry.

John started down the stairs. The heavy rain cast eerie shadows on the hallway, and John shivered, padding softly across to the front door. He peered through the peephole, but could not see anything due to the water drops obscuring the view.

Lightning flashed as he pulled the door open slowly to find a woman standing outside. He caught a flash of auburn hair as thunder rumbled, before she swayed and fell onto John, her eyes closed. He caught her instinctively, and carefully carried her inside. "Mrs Hudson," he called, "we've got another one!"

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**Apologies for the short chapter, but there'll be a longer one soon, I promise.**


	4. Chapter 4

John looked at the woman lying on his sofa. She lay peacefully, sleeping quietly. Her shoulder-length auburn hair was fanned out around her head like a halo, contrasting with her pale skin. Her black blouse and trousers had been damp from the rain, so John had laid a blanket over her to keep her warm. She reminded John of someone, but he couldn't quite work out who.

He shrugged slightly and went into the kitchen to get a glass of water for when she woke up. He heard Mrs Hudson coming up the stairs, and popped out to warn her to be quiet. They entered the lounge together and stared at the strange woman. "Who do you think she is?" Mrs Hudson whispered, and John shrugged. "She looks familiar, but I can't place her," he whispered back, and Mrs Hudson nodded in agreement.

She quietly placed a tray of muffins on the kitchen table and crept out of the flat, heading back down the stairs. John smiled and shook his head, taking the tray and placing it in the pantry for later, before sitting down with his laptop to work on his blog.

The woman on the sofa groaned and shifted. She opened her eyes slowly to find herself lying on a sofa, staring up at a patterned wall.

She turned her head, and saw that she was in a relatively tidy flat with large windows. Dull grey light filtered in through the partially drawn curtains. She could hear heavy rain battering the windows.

There was a kindly-looking man in a grey jumper sitting at a table by the window, working on an Apple laptop. He noticed her watching him, and smiled. "You're awake, then."

She nodded and sat up, rubbing her head and throwing the blanket onto the sofa beside her. "Yeah, I…what happened?"

When she moved her head, her prominent cheekbones cast shadows on her face. She was tall and thin, and John was once again reminded of someone he used to know, although he couldn't quite place who. When she spoke, she had a slight American accent.

John got up and moved to the sofa, sitting beside the strange woman. He offered her a glass of water. "You fainted. It's quite all right. Take it easy for a bit, you'll be fine. Trust me, I'm a doctor."

The woman smiled and took the water. Sipping it slowly, she asked, "Did I come to the right place? Is this the home of Sherlock Holmes?"

John grimaced. "Uh…"

Before he could speak, the woman continued talking. "You see, I asked one man, who pointed me in the wrong direction, then I asked a woman, who told me that Sherlock Holmes lived here. Is that true?"

"Yes, he did live here. Sorry, who are you?"

The woman carefully put the glass down on the coffee table. "I'm Charlene. Charlene Holmes."

John did a double take, staring at the woman in front of him. "I'm sorry?"

"I'm Charlene Holmes," the woman repeated, raising an eyebrow. "And you are…"

John recovered his composure. "I'm Doctor John Watson. Pleased to meet you," he said, offering a hand, which Charlene shook. "Do you know Sherlock?"

"Sort of. You see, I'm his sister. His twin, actually."

John did another double take. "He had a sister?"

Charlene smiled. "Yes, he does. And she's me. Anyway, you said Sherlock lived here?"

"Yes. Well, he used to."

Charlene frowned. "What happened to him?"

"He, uh…he passed away."

Her eyes widened. "What?"

John reached forward and put a hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry, Charlene. Truly I am."

She took a deep breath. "What happened to him?"

"A few months ago, he jumped off the roof of St. Bartholomew's Hospital," John said gently.

Charlene stared at him with her mouth open, then closed it and shook her head resolutely. "No. He didn't. He never would have done that."

John looked sympathetic. "Why not?"

Charlene raised her chin and looked John squarely in the eye. "Because that's how I died."


	5. Chapter 5

John couldn't quite believe his ears. "I'm sorry?"

Charlene grinned at John's confusion. "I said that was how I died." The she took pity on John and explained herself. "When Sherlock and I were 7 years old, our family went on holiday in Cardiff. Sherlock and I didn't always get along, but whenever we went away, we always went to the rooftop of the place we were staying, together. It was our thing. This time, we had a box, and we were playing at being pirates." She smiled at the memory. "We always wanted to be pirates. Once, we succeeded at tying Mycroft up while he was working." John smiled at this too, but then Charlene's face grew serious.

"Anyway, on the day we were in Cardiff, Mycroft came up to tell us to come down for dinner. I remember this next bit as if it happened yesterday. Mycroft joined in the game, and he was tickling us. We were having fun, the two of us in the box and him outside. But then I noticed that the ox was slowly moving closer to the edge. I wasn't worried at first, but then we were right on the edge. The box started to tilt, and Sherlock and Mycroft hadn't noticed. I did the only thing could think of: I pushed Sherlock out of the box just as it began to fall. Sherlock and Mycroft were at the top, screaming my name, but I was falling and I couldn't stop.

"I don't remember what happened next. The next thing I remember after that was being on a ship, heading for America with my family." Charlene finished and looked up at John. "I know it sounds unbelievable, but it's true, I promise you."

John took a deep breath. Charlene was right, it did sound unbelievable, especially with what had happened to Sherlock. But then she had looked up at him, and he saw her eyes properly for the first time. They were blue and green, just like Sherlock's. Heterochromia, a very rare condition in which a person's irises had two colours, not one. He realised who Charlene reminded him of: Sherlock. Sherlock Holmes. The curly hair, the pale complexion, the cheekbones. And most of all, the eyes. They both looked the same age, early thirties, and were both tall and thin.

Suddenly, John was in no doubt whatsoever that Charlene was the twin sister of his best friend. It all made sense. Sherlock's dislike of Mycroft. His general dislike of other people. And his aversion to rooftops.

John looked at Charlene, and smiled. "I believe you," he said, and she grinned in return.

At that moment, Mrs Hudson knocked on the door and entered the flat. She saw Charlene sitting up and came over to the sofa. "Hello dear, I'm Mrs Hudson. I'm John's housekeeper," she said, holding out her hand to Charlene, who stood up and shook Mrs Hudson's hand with a smile.

"I'm Charlene Holmes. I'm Sherlock's sister," she said, and Mrs Hudson took a step backwards.

"I'm sorry?"

John stood up also. "Charlene is Sherlock's twin sister," he explained.

Mrs Hudson still looked disbelieving. She pulled John aside. "Are you sure, dear? I mean, do you know for certain?"

John put an arm around Mrs Hudson reassuringly. "Look at her." They both turned around to look at Charlene, who had wandered across the room and was inspecting Sherlock's skull. "She looks like him, don't you think?" Mrs Hudson nodded grudgingly, and john continued. "And her eyes. They're exactly the same as his. Blue and green together, a slight genetic mutation. Very rare, but very pretty."

Mrs Hudson nodded understandingly and patted John's arm. "Yes, dear. Very pretty."

"I didn't mean it like that! Not that she's pretty! I mean, she's got Sherlock's eyes, is all." John wasn't going to deny that she was pretty, but that wasn't the only reason he believed her.

Mrs Hudson's eyes widened. "Oh, so Sherlock's eyes were pretty?"

"No! I mean, yes, but…"

She smiled and nodded at him, then turned around and went downstairs. John sighed impatiently and went back into the flat, where he found Charlene looking at him questioningly. "She didn't believe it, did she?" she asked before he could say anything, and he shook his head no.

Charlene looked disappointed, so John said, "You wouldn't like a cup of tea, would you?"

She smiled. "I'd love one. You know, you can't get a decent cuppa in the States. Not like British tea." John nodded as he put the kettle on, and she continued talking. "Did Sherlock like tea?"

John thought for a moment. "Well, he never really liked eating or drinking anything much, especially not when he was on a case."

"A case?" Charlene asked, raising one eyebrow.

"Oh, yeah. Your brother was a consulting detective."

"A what now?"

John smiled. "He made up the title. Basically, if someone had a mystery, they'd go to him. If it was interesting enough, he'd solve it for them. He also helped the police."

"The London Met?"

"Scotland Yard, actually. They came to him if they needed help. They hated it, but he was often the only person who could solve their cases. How do you like your tea?"

"Milk please, no sugar."

"Okay then. Here you are." He passed a steaming mug to Charlene, who accepted it with a smile. She smiles a lot, thought John. She's so similar to her brother, but so different.

Charlene sat back down on the sofa, and John sat in his chair. She wrapped her hands around the mug, and looked at him thoughtfully. Eventually, she asked, "This may seem like a strange question, but were you ever in the military?"

John froze mid-sip, and slowly lowered his tea, staring at her. "Yes. Yes, I was. How…what made you ask?"

Charlene shrugged. "Just something about the way you stand, and walk around. You seem disciplined, like you were in the military. Those sort of habits take a lifetime to get rid of. Also, you have a stick, and walk with a slight limp, but you stand as if you don't need it. It's a recent wound, which would reinforce the idea that you were in the military and got sent home…" She trailed off, aware that John was staring at her. "What?"

"Your brother worked out exactly the same thing about me when I first met him, although admittedly he went a bit further."

Charlene looked interested. "He did?"

"Yes, that was a talent of his. He deduced things about people. That's what made him a good detective. When I first met him, I'd just come home from Afghanistan. The first thing he said to me was 'Afghanistan of Iraq?' He worked out that I'd been an army doctor who'd been shot and had a psychosomatic limp. It was…it was amazing, the way that he did it. I could never work it out. Mycroft is the same, except he's smarter. It must run in the family, for you to be able to do it too."

Charlene noticed the way John spoke about Sherlock. "Were you close to my brother?"

"We were flatmates, and best friends. Nothing more, although the press would have you believe otherwise."

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, the reporters – and about half of London – seemed to think that we were a couple."

"And were you?" Charlene asked cheekily.

"Of course not! We were friends. I think I was his only friend, actually. That's what he said, anyway."

"That was nice of him." She smiled and sipped her tea.

John had a sudden thought, and went over to a cupboard. He pulled out some newspaper clippings. "Look at these."

Charlene took the first article and looked at it. She found pictures of John with a man who looked familiar. The headline read 'Hat-man and Robin: The web detectives'. She looked closer and realised that the other man in the photograph was Sherlock Holmes. Her brother. He was wearing a long coat and some kind of ridiculous hat. She pointed at the picture. "I hope he didn't wear that very often?"

John looked at what she was pointing at and laughed. "No, he hated it actually. That picture was unfortunate. We knew there were reporters outside, so he put on the hat and we went outside. He hated all the pictures of that hat. Then he got a present from the Yard, and it was a deerstalker. He called it an 'Ear Hat' and a 'Death Frisbee'. It became his signature hat, associated with the name Sherlock Holmes. And he never wore it."

Charlene laughed, then looked at the articles again. She frowned. "Why do they call you 'web detectives'?"

"Because of my blog." John opened his laptop and showed it to Charlene. She looked at the website displayed, and reached for the mouse. "May I?" she asked, and John nodded in agreement. He stood up and went into the kitchen, and Charlene clicked on the first link and started to read.

* * *

**Reviews are great;y appreciated! I'd love to know what you think of this story, and of Charlene. Or even if you just want to say hi.**


	6. Chapter 6

Over the next few hours, Charlene read all about her late brother's adventures from John's blog. She looked at Sherlock's website, The Science of Deduction, and marvelled at his prowess. As she read, she found herself subconsciously engaging with this man whom she did not know, and coming to admire him and his work.

She understood why John followed Sherlock around, and blogged about him. The man was a genius. What she didn't understand was why he had supposedly jumped off a building. Especially after what had happened to her. But, she thought suddenly, what if her 'death' hadn't impacted on Sherlock at all? What if Sherlock had forgotten about her?

Just as she was thinking this, she heard a tentative cough from across the room. Her head jerked up to see John looking apologetic. "Sorry to disturb you, but time's getting on. I was going to order Chinese for dinner, would you like some?"

Charlene blinked and looked out the window to find that it had indeed grown dark. She looked back at John. "Yes please, if you wouldn't mind."

"Not at all." John went and got the takeaway menu and placed it in front of Charlene, who picked it up and looked over it. She told John her order, and he called the company, who said it would be over in fifteen minutes.

After setting the dining table and pouring a drink for each of them, John sat down in front of Charlene. "So tell me, why did you come to London now?"

Charlene frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, you're what, in your thirties now? So why only come now? Why not come and see your family sooner?"

Charlene sighed. "It's strange. For the longest time, I thought I was Charlene Waters, daughter of Gus and Hazel Waters. I lived in New York, and grew up as an American. But then one day, about three months ago, I had a strange dream that I was playing on a rooftop with my brothers, which I thought strange as I didn't have any brothers. But even after I woke up, the dream stuck with me. It seemed so real, so vivid that I realised it wasn't a dream. It was a memory. I asked my parents about it, and they admitted that I was adopted. I came back to find my real family, and here I am now."

John felt a small shiver run down his spine. "How long ago did you say this was?"

"Three months ago. Three months tomorrow, actually."

John's eyes widened. "How far behind London is New York?"

"In terms of time zones? Five hours," Charlene answered immediately. "Why do you ask?"

He did some quick maths in his head, then frowned. "Charlene," he said carefully, "when you had that dream? That was the exact date and time that Sherlock died."

Charlene's eyes widened, and she stared at John, mouth slightly open. "How…?"

"I don't…"

"Maybe…"

"Twins…?"

They stared at each other, stunned, when suddenly there was a loud ring at the door. They both jumped, and stared out towards the hall.

John blinked, and stood up. "That'll be the Chinese." He limped out of the flat and down to the front door.

Charlene stood up and wandered around the room, picking up the violin and inspecting it, facing the large window. John came rushing up the stairs. "Do you know where my wallet is?"

She pointed towards the skull on the mantelpiece, and he ran over and grabbed the wallet, before rushing out the door again. He came back a minute later, with plastic bags of Chinese food. "Thank you."

Charlene turned towards him and smiled. "You're welcome."

"I wonder why I left it there," John muttered as he went through to the kitchen.

Charlene followed him. "You were probably holding it when you were looking at the skull, then out it down without thinking."

John stopped unpacking the bags and turned to look at her. "What makes you say that?"

"I guessed. I was looking at it earlier, and I noticed that the dust was disturbed around it, as if it had been moved recently. The wallet was next to it, so that was the most likely possibility."

"Amazing," John muttered, and went back to unpacking the bags.

"It's not really," Charlene replied. "It's just something I can do. I've always been able to do it. It's a talent, I guess, like being able to raise one eyebrow, or play an instrument."

"Yeah, well I still think it's amazing," John said, sitting down at the table. Charlene followed suit. "Yours was the sweet and sour pork, right?"

"Yes. Thanks." She accepted the container from John and opened it.

Neither one mentioned the earlier revelation about the timing of Charlene's dream. Instead, John told Charlene about living with Sherlock, and what he had been like. She laughed and grimaced in the appropriate places, then asked about his life. He told her about his childhood, about the army, fighting in Afghanistan, having Harry for a sister (again, she laughed and grimaced in the appropriate places), and about his life now, without Sherlock.

In return, Charlene told John about being a Waters for most of her life, about being at school in New York, the people she'd met, the things she'd done. Her first job was delivering pizzas on the back of her bike. On her first day at school, she'd fallen out of a tree and scraped her knee. Little things like that.

She seemed to be a relatively normal person, in comparison with Sherlock and Mycroft, but John did not say this. Instead, he said, "Do you have anywhere to stay tonight?"

Charlene swallowed a mouthful. "Yeah, I'm staying at the Gleneagles. Why do you ask?"

"I was just thinking…if you didn't have anywhere to go, maybe you could stay here."

Charlene raised an eyebrow playfully. "John Watson, I've known you less than a day, and already you're suggesting that I 'sleep over'?"

John went red. "No! No, I didn't mean…no. I meant, Sherlock's room is still empty. You could sleep there. Not…no."

Charlene giggled. "You're easy to embarrass. Well, if you're sure you don't mind?"

John nodded. "I'm sure."

She smiled. "In that case, I would love to stay here, John Watson."

"I'm glad to hear it, Charlene Holmes." John smiled, then got up to wash up. He washed the dishes while she dried, then they went through to the lounge.

Charlene picked up Sherlock's violin again, and inspected it. "Was this my brother's?"

"Um, yeah, it was. I can't play. Can you?"

"I'm a little rusty." She picked up the bow and ran a finger along it. "Needs rosin."

"What?"

"Rosin. You rub it on the horse hair." She looked in the case, and pulled out what looked like a small yellow rock, rubbing it along the bow. She then fiddled with the end of the bow, and picked up the violin again, raising the bow to play. She looked at John. "Any preferences?"

"Whatever you like."

Charlene straightened up, and slowly drew the bow across the strings, picking up confidence as she went. She played a slow, sweet, melancholy piece that John had never heard before. The rounded music rang through the flat and down to Mrs Hudson, who came out to see who was playing so beautifully. It snuck out through the window and down to the ears of a pair of late-night pedestrians, who stopped and gazed upwards. The sound of the beautiful piece soared through the night, until Charlene finished and ended with a bow.

She was surprised to hear spontaneous applause, from John in his chair, and Mrs Hudson on the landing, and even from the people on the street. She laughed and bowed again, before calling her thanks to the people on the Baker Street and shutting the window.

Charlene turned back around, and was surprised to find that John had tears in his eyes. She went over to him, concerned. "Are you all right?"

"That was beautiful," he said.

Mrs Hudson piped up from the doorway. "Almost as good as Sherlock. Maybe you are related to him after all." She trotted of downstairs, and Charlene giggled. John started to chuckle, wiping his eyes.

"Now, where is this bedroom of the famous Sherlock Holmes?"

* * *

**Please review! Thank you!**


	7. Chapter 7

Charlene lay in her brother's bed, thinking. It was all quite overwhelming. For most of her life, she had thought she was an only child. Then she discovered a brother, lost him, and found a new friend, all in the space of three months. It was almost too much to take in.

Charlene remembered something John had said about Sherlock, something about a mind palace. She thought a while longer, then had an idea. In her mind, she imagined a small house, a cottage with bricks. She then imagined all the information in her head as being in cardboard boxes. In her head, she moved the boxes containing her life in New York into a room at the front of the bungalow, and what she now knew about her real family into the room across the hall. After some consideration, she put her memories from school and university into another room, next to the New York room.

There. Now her mind felt organised, and ready to learn new things. Charlene wondered idly if this was how Sherlock felt, if this was how he organised his brain. She stretched and rolled over onto her side. Tomorrow, she thought, she would learn more. Maybe she would be able to find her older brother, Mycroft, as well. John had mentioned something about Mycroft kidnapping him, so he must be somewhere around. Tomorrow, she decided, then drifted off to sleep.

o0o0o

Charlee woke the next morning to find herself in a strange bed. She rolled over and fell onto the floor, panicking. After a moment, she realised that she was in Sherlock's room, and the memories of the previous day came flooding back.

She sat up and blinked hard, remembering. Her brother was dead. She had left her job, come across the Atlantic, and tracked him down, only to find that he had a severe case of not living. And to find that he'd jumped off a rooftop, of all places!

Charlene realised she was still on the floor, and got up. She carefully put her contact lenses in, and got dressed quickly before heading downstairs. She entered the kitchen to find John putting slices of bacon onto two plates. He looked up and smiled. "Sit down, you're just in time for breakfast."

She accepted the plate of food and sat down, tucking in. John sat opposite her. "Sleep well?" he asked.

"Yes, thank you. It was a very comfortable bed. I see why Sherlock liked it." They ate in silence for a minute, then she spoke again. "What are you going to do today?"

John swallowed. "I didn't have anything in particular to do. I thought maybe, if you don't have anything planned-"

"I don't."

"-we could go to see Mycroft. Would that be okay?"

"The last time I saw him, he pushed me off a multi-storey building. It will be interesting to see him again." Charlene grinned, and John smiled.

"Right, that's settled then. We'll find Mycroft Holmes, and talk to him."

"Find him?" Charlene frowned. "I thought you would know where he was."

"I know where he might be, but the British government is surprisingly hard to find. You finished? Let's be off then." John took the plates and put them in the sink, before heading out the door. Charlene followed him, wondering what he meant about the British government. Was Mycroft a politician? A civil servant? Shrugging, she hurried after John, downstairs and out the door as he flagged down a taxi.

o0o0o

Twenty minutes later, John and Charlene entered the Diogenes Club. Charlene stood outside and marvelled for a minute at the grand architecture, before looking around to find that John had gone in side. She hurried through the door, but he was nowhere to be seen inside.

Confused, she made her way into a large room with plenty of comfortable chairs around, most of which had comfortable old men sitting in them. There was total silence, and she frowned. In most clubs, there were at least quiet conversations going on between members. In this strange place, there was none. Everyone appeared to be ignoring each other, or to not have noticed that there were other people in the room at all. And no one had noticed her.

Charlene went to the nearest man, who looked up from his newspaper, startled. She bent over and whispered, "Where can I find Mycroft Holmes?"

The effect was instantaneous. Everybody's heads turned towards her sharply, and the face of the man she'd talked to went red. She spoke again, quietly. "Does anyone know where Mycroft Holmes is?"

One man across the room reached up to ring a bell, when John appeared at the door and beckoned to Charlene. Gratefully, she headed towards him, and John mouthed 'Sorry' to the assorted men in the room as she did so.

Charlene reached the door, and turned and mouthed 'Sorry' also, before hurrying away. John followed her. "Where did you get to?" he whispered.

"I was outside, you were the one who disappeared. What the hell was that?" she demanded in a whisper, pointing towards the silent room.

"I don't quite know myself. There's a lot of controversial people who meet there, I think, and if people talk they'll start to argue. I don't even think you're allowed to cough." John started to lead the way to the Strangers' Room, and Charlene followed.

"Seriously? In that case, I think I almost got thrown out."

"You're lucky. I found out the hard way."

"Do tell."

"Later," John promised, and pointed to a large door in front of them. "This is the only room we're allowed to talk in."

He pushed open the door and went inside, and Charlene followed. There was a man inside on a chair, with ginger hair and a condescending face. Charlene wasn't sure why she thought of it as condescending. He just was.

He was the only person in the room, despite there being plenty of chairs around. The man looked up from his book and blinked. He looked startled for a second, then smoothed over that with a smile, inclining his head towards the pair. "Doctor Watson. And you've brought a friend, I see."

"Mycroft," John said, nodding at the man. He motioned for Charlene to say something.

She stepped forward and cleared her throat. "Hello, Mycroft. It's me. Your sister. Charlene Holmes."

Mycroft merely looked at her, then back at John. "And what is the point of this little game, Doctor Watson?"

"It's not a game, Mycroft." John spoke through gritted teeth.

"It's really me," Charlene interjected.

Mycroft smiled. "Unfortunately, my late sister was British, not American. I'll admit, you do bear a striking resemblance to both her and my late brother. But alas, you are not her. So sorry to spoil your day." And with that he went back to his book.

Charlene stepped forward and grabbed the book. "It's me, _brother_," she practically growled. "Do you want me to prove it? Charlene Holmes, born January 5th, 1981. Twin brother of Sherlock Holmes. We used to play Pirates together. We strapped you to a chair, dear brother, do you remember that? You couldn't do your Latin homework, and you had to call for Mummy to help you. She laughed at you." Charlene's voice was low and fast, but angry. She reminded John of Sherlock as she continued speaking.

"Every year, we went on holiday as a family. Usually Father couldn't come, but when we were seven, he managed to get time off. We went to Cardiff. Sherlock and I were on the rooftop, when you came along and joined in. I fell off the roof in a box, and you thought I died. I thought I died, to be honest. Is that enough, or would you like some more proof?"

Mycroft waved his hand dismissively. "Anybody could have worked that out."

"But I didn't work it out. I remembered it. I died, Mycroft, then I went to America. That's why I have an accent. But I'm British, just as much as you are. Believe me. I am Charlene Holmes. And you killed me."

"So why, pray tell, did you go to America, _Charlene_?"

"I…I don't know. I don't remember. I remember falling, but the next thing after that is being on a ship, heading for the States. I had amnesia, or something. I can't remember."

"You wouldn't." Mycroft said. It was plain that he still didn't believe her, and appeared to be playing along.

"Exactly. I thought I was Charlene Waters. I had parents, who I now realise were adoptive parents. Augustus and Hazel Waters. Look them up, they're both university professors."

"So, if you were Charlene Waters, why did you come back, claiming you are my sister?"

"I remembered. I woke up one day and remembered. Three months ago."

"Three months ago _today_, Mycroft," John said. "Ring any bells?"

Mycroft stopped. "That's impossible," he said quietly.

"It would seem so, but there you go." Charlene sounded defiant.

Mycroft recovered his composure. "Well, if you are my sister, then I'm certain you would agree to a DNA test?" he asked, smiling. He was certain she would back down, so was surprised when she answered, "Absolutely." Her voice was quietly confident.

Mycroft nodded. "Very well, we shall arrange that then. Good day to you, Doctor Watson. And goodbye, young lady." He held his hand out for his book, and Charlene gave it to him reluctantly, turning to leave.

She heard Mycroft's voice behind them, and turned back around. "Oh, and next time you come, do try to talk a bit more loudly in the hallways, won't you? I think there may be someone over the other side of the building who didn't quite catch your conversation. Good day." And with that, the British government went back to his book while John and Charlene left, frustrated.


	8. Chapter 8

John and Charlene stepped out onto the busy street, Charlene gritting her teeth at her brother's behaviour. John merely looked defeated.

Charlene stalked down the street, muttering to herself. "He's my brother! And he didn't believe me. Of course he wouldn't; he's too busy reading that stupid book of his! Did you see what book he was reading, John?" she suddenly asked the man who had been running to keep up with her.

"Um, no. I wasn't really paying attention."

"Watership Down. Of all books! And he's read it several times before, assuming that's his book and he's not borrowing it. But he doesn't seem to be the sort of person who would borrow books, that arrogant, stuck-up, _lazy_ sod…oh, my God." She stopped dead, and John bumped into her from behind.

"What?"

"That arrogant prick is my brother!" Charlene seemed shocked. "Why is he like that? He never used to be like that. He was fun to play with. Why is he so horrible now?"

"I don't know," John said gently. "Maybe he was affected by the way you 'died'. It's entirely possible that he blames himself, and that's why he's been so short with you now. I'm sure he'll come around, after the DNA results come back."

"Do you think he will really do that?"

"He'll sort something out, trust me. He has several people at his disposal. I'm sure he'll get someone to do it. Besides, did you see the way he looked at you? He was definitely unsettled when you walked in. He recognised you, all right. I think he's just too scared to let himself believe you."

Charlene thought about this, then smiled. "Thanks, John."

"Any time. Now, Baker Street is this way, so if you'll follow me…" He turned around and headed off in the opposite direction, Charlene by his side.

o0o0o

John and Charlene were only halfway home when Charlene felt a drop of water hit her head. She frowned and carried on, and she was hit by three in quick succession. She looked upwards just as the heavens opened, and it started to pour with rain.

She and John ducked under a shade and watched it pour. "How far is it to Baker Street?" she asked John. He put his hand to his ear, indicating that he couldn't hear her over the rain. She repeated the question, practically yelling at him.

"Too far!" he replied.

"Can we take a cab?"

John looked up and down the street. "There's none here. And they'll be in use, anyway."

"What can we do?"

He pointed. "There's a café over there. Do you want to make a dash for it?" Charlene nodded in agreement, and he counted down. "Three, two, one…"

They looked both ways and darted across the footpath, dashing across the road together. They got over to the other side and collapsed against the wall of the café, giggling.

After a moment, they realised they were holding hands, and lurched apart as if burned. John cleared his throat. "Um, shall we go in?"

"Yeah," Charlene answered quickly, and they went inside to the warmth, being careful not to touch each other.

o0o0o

Ten minutes later, John and Charlene sat inside the window of the small café, looking out at the rain. Each had a cup of coffee, and John was a scone while Charlene held a muffin.

"Is the weather always like this?" Charlene asked.

"Not always. Sometimes it's worse."

She laughed. "We normally have thirty-something-degree temperatures this time of year, in New York."

"I'm guessing you mean Fahrenheit?"

"No, Celsius. Of course Fahrenheit."

There was a pause, and they both ate. Eventually, John asked, "So what do you do for fun?"

Charlene thought about it for a moment. "I don't know, really. I don't have many pastimes. I like to study people, though."

"Study people? In what way?"

"I like to watch them, see how they react to stuff. Like, what happens if someone tells them they love them? That they hate them? That their coffee order was misplaced? Stuff like that. I used to go into Starbucks a lot, back in the States, just to watch people."

"So you can read them?"

"Not read them, more…more make guesses about them. I can guess things about people, like how I knew that you were in the military. It's not amazing, though, it's just a trick. Something I can do. And I don't know how or why."

John took a sip of his coffee. "Can you make guesses about that couple over there?" He nodded to a small table over the other side of the café, and Charlene followed his gaze. She looked thoughtful.

"They're not married, but they seem familiar with each other, like they've known each other a long time. There's a look married couples get, when they've been married for too long and they're sick of each other. That's what these two have, but they're not married. No rings, see?"

"So, they're married, but they're not?"

"They've split up. Not too recently, either. They live separately, and have different pets, have done for a while now." John raised an eyebrow, and Charlene elaborated. "Her shoulder has white fur on it, presumable from a cat who likes to sit on her. His trousers, however, have dark hair on, to about mid-thigh. This suggests a large dog that has been around for some time. Separate fur, separate pets, separate homes."

John swallowed the last of his scone. "So why are they having coffee together? Are they going to get back together?"

"Oh, no. Definitely not. He still despises her. As to why they are here now, I would guess that they are going to the funeral of a mutual friend, and happened to meet up here. They both have black clothes, and are being quiet, not talking even though they're sitting together. And she has what I call a 'funeral hat', a certain type of black fascinator which, in my experience, women only ever wear to funerals."

John looked again, and laughed. "She is, too!"

Charlene smiled, then tentatively asked, "To change the subject, would you by chance know how my brother's mind palace worked?"

John shook his head and shrugged his shoulders helplessly. "I don't think anyone knew how Sherlock's Mind Palace worked except Sherlock. What I do know is, he always needed complete silence when he was there. He preferred it if people were out of the room. And he could get cranky as well, if someone disturbed him. Sometimes, when he was thinking, he needed someone to face the other way because his face was distracting." John smiled at the memory.

"Seriously? How could a person's face be distracting?"

"Oh, it was just one guy. Anderson, from Scotland Yard. He always called him a freak."

"Sherlock called a guy a freak?"

"No, Anderson called Sherlock a freak. All the time. So did his girlfriend, Sally Donovan." John's tone was one of disgust. "He made them feel uncomfortable by deducing them, so they took it out on him by insulting him. But you know what? He never really seemed to care. He never defended himself, or anything. I was the only one that seemed bothered."

"But you did care about my brother."

"Yeah. Yeah, I did, I guess. I don't know why, he was annoying enough at times," he joked. "And then sometimes, it seemed he really didn't care at all how anybody else felt, either. I guess he wasn't that different from them, after all." John sighed.

"What do you mean, he didn't care how anybody else felt?"

"Oh, it's just…some of the things he said. Like one time, he told me he didn't have any friends." Charlene covered her mouth. "But then he told me that he only had one, so I suppose that was all right."

"It still wasn't very nice of him, though."

"Oh well, he was stressed. He just thought he'd seen a hound that turned out to be mist."

"Oh, do you mean in Baskerville?"

"Yes. Um…how did you…?"

"I read it in your blog, remember?"

"Oh, of course! It's just, most people wouldn't remember it that clearly, is all."

Charlene smiled. "I'm not most people."

"No, you're a Holmes."

"Speaking of which, do you think Mycroft will really do that DNA test?"

John puffed out his cheeks and exhaled. "Hard to say. I don't know how his mind works. But he probably will. Do you want him to?"

"I wouldn't have been that bothered before this morning, I don't think. But talking to him, seeing the way that _my brother_ treated me…I know he didn't know me for most of my life, but it still wasn't very nice."

"Yeah, it wasn't." John looked outside. "Well, it's stopped raining now. Do you want to risk going back to Baker Street?"

"Sure." Charlene stood up, and followed John out the door.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: This is a quick chapter to address the issue of Mycroft's DNA test. I apologise if some of the details aren't correct, I'm not exactly an expert. I hope you enjoy this chapter!**

* * *

The rain managed to hold out for the rest of the way back to Baker Street. John walked up to the front door and unlocked it, but just as he opened it, a black car pulled up behind them. John turned. "Charlene, you remember what you were saying about Mycroft doing that DNA test?"

"Yeah?"

"Well, I think he has come through on that promise." He pointed to the car, and Charlene looked. The back door of the car opened, and Charlene cautiously got in, glancing back at John. He nodded encouragingly, and the door closed behind her, trapping her inside.

Charlene looked around in the dark interior of the car. There was a girl sitting in the back seat next to her, concentrating on her phone. She looked around at Charlene. "Put your seatbelt on, then," she said, without looking away from the small screen.

Charlene reached around and pulled the seatbelt across, still staring at the girl. The car started to move off, and the girl finally looked at Charlene. "Don't you know it's rude to stare?"

"Sorry, I just…who are you?"

"I'm Anthea."

"No, you're not."

The girl looked up at Charlene, startled for a second, before smoothing over it with a cold smile. "I'm sorry, what?"

"You're not Anthea. You were obviously lying. What's your real name?"

'Anthea' looked back at her phone. "So Mycroft wasn't kidding," she said under her breath.

"Wasn't kidding about what?"

"You do act like a Holmes."

"That'd probably be because I am a Holmes."

Anthea merely raised her eyebrows and went back to her phone. She remained silent for the rest of the drive, which Charlene didn't mind one bit. She tried watching out the windows, but did not recognise any of the scenery. She did, however, notice that they seemed to be going up and down the same streets several times.

_Either the driver doesn't know where he's going, or he's trying to put me off, _she thought to herself. _Mycroft seems to be an influential man, I doubt he'd hire drivers who didn't know the way. So this man is under instructions to not let me know where we are going. I wonder why that is?_

Charlene shook her head. _Stop it. Guessing things won't make people like you, you know that. And now you're talking to yourself. Great._

She looked over to see Anthea staring at her. She smiled sweetly, and Anthea rolled her eyes and looked away.

Eventually they arrived at a large stone building. Anthea nodded for Charlene to get out, and she did so, staring up at the grey building. It was evidently the back of the building, and it had a small entrance. She pushed the door open, and glanced back to find the car was gone. _Ah well,_ she thought, and headed inside.

Charlene was greeted by a long white corridor that smelled of bleach and cleaning products. She wrinkled her nose, knowing instantly she was in a hospital. She started off down the corridor, trying to not breathe in.

Presently, a man in a three-piece suit stepped out of a door in front of Charlene. She recognised the umbrella immediately. "Hello, Mycroft."

"Charlene. I presume that is your name?" Mycroft's voice was sarcastic, and he wore a cold smile.

"Yes. Charlene Holmes. How have you been keeping, dear brother?" Charlene kept an equally polite, cold tone.

"Well, thank you. And you?"

I'm fine, thanks. Now, are you going to tell me what I'm doing here, or are you going to keep me in suspense?"

"We are here for a DNA test, as requested earlier."

Charlene looked around. "Well, you certainly sorted this quickly."

"I have my ways. Shall we go?" Mycroft indicated the corridor ahead, and Charlene quickly moved forward so she would be walking in front of him. They started to walk.

"Mycroft, can I ask you a question?"

"You just did."

She rolled her eyes. "Why do you not believe me?"

Mycroft sighed slightly. "Because my sister unfortunately passed away many years ago. Alas, you cannot be her."

"In that case, why do I have her memories? Why do I look like her?"

"How did you supposedly survive?" Mycroft swiftly countered.

Charlene faltered. "I…I don't know. All I know is, one day I woke up, and I realised I was not who I thought I was."

"Whom."

"What?"

"It should be whom, not who."

"Fine. _Whom_ I thought I was." Charlene told Mycroft about growing up as Charlene Waters, and about her parents, Gus and Hazel. She briefly outlined her schooling and career, and told him again how she woke up with her memories of being Charlene Waters. She finished with, "And I know it's improbable and unbelievable, but please, you have to believe me!"

"You're correct, it is improbable. However, as I am doing this ridiculously expensive test now, I think you can assume I believe there may be some truth in your statements."

Charlene stopped and frowned. "I'm sorry, what?"

Mycroft rolled his eyes. "I think you may be telling the truth, which is why I arranged this test. Now, our destination is at the top of these stairs here."

The two Holmeses set off up the stairs, together, Mycroft noticeably slower than Charlene, and went through the door at the top. Charlene found herself in a small laboratory with a large table in the centre, crowded with bottles and instruments. Charlene recognised a few of them, having taken chemistry at university.

There was a brown-haired man in the room wearing a white coat, looking like a stereotypical lab assistant. Looking at him, Charlene guessed that he hadn't been getting much sleep lately due to his upcoming marriage, before firmly telling herself to stop guessing things. Instead, she turned to Mycroft. "So what are we doing here?"

Mycroft indicated the brown-haired scientist. "This is Doctor Smith, who will be taking a DNA sample from you, with your permission of course."

The other man stepped forward. "Hi Charlene, welcome to St Bart's. You can call me Simon. Now, if you'd like to sit down here…" he indicated a chair by the table "…we can begin."

Charlene sat down with Mycroft opposite her. Simon took two jars and carefully laid them on the table in front of her. They were labelled 'Charlene'. Two more were placed in front of Mycroft, labelled accordingly. Charlene raised an eyebrow at her brother. "This is very well organised, to say you only met me an hour ago."

"Three, actually. It appears you may have lost track of time in the café with Doctor Watson."

Charlene blinked. "I was in that café for two hours?" Mycroft nodded, and Charlene frowned. "Why were you watching me?"

"I wasn't watching you, merely keeping tabs on you."

"But why?"

"I was curious. It doesn't matter. Now, do you give consent to this test?"

She nodded. "Of course."

Mycroft nodded at Dr Smith. "You may begin."

First, the doctor took a swab from the inside of Charlene's cheek, then a blood sample from her arm. She looked away as he drew her blood, breathing shallowly. Mycroft noticed this, but didn't say anything; which Charlene appreciated, having noticed him noticing.

The process was repeated on Mycroft; then Dr Smith took him and Charlene through to another room of roughly the same size, with a large computer. He entered the DNA samples into the machine, then sat down in front of the screen with Mycroft and Charlene on either side of him.

Presently, blocks of colour began to appear on the screen. Mycroft and Dr Smith began to talk about it quietly, and Charlene caught snatches of their conversation.

"…similar alleles…"

"…maternal line…"

"…heterochrome…"

She became bored and wandered back into the first room, picking up bottles and fiddling with equipment. When Mycroft came in presently, he found Charlene leaning against the bench, staring intently into the lens of a microscope she was bending over. After a moment, she looked up at him.

He indicated the microscope. "Find anything interesting?"

Charlene assessed his manner. He looked emotionless, but deliberately so. He was holding something in, but whether it was surprise or triumph, she couldn't tell. "Depends. Did you?"

Mycroft merely motioned her towards the other room. "I think you had better come and have a look."

o0o0o

Charlene went through to the room with the computer, to find the machine switched off. Dr Simon handed her a two-page printout.

She glanced at it briefly. She didn't understand any of what it said, but there was a lot of green.

She looked up at him. "Well? What does it mean?"

Dr Simon looked at Mycroft, who walked around to stand in front of her. "Hello, Charlene Holmes."

* * *

**A/N: Thank you so much for reading! I'd love it if you could leave a review!**

**Thanks again to Captain Xena-Mation for letting me use her character.**

**I will update again soon, I promise!**


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Hi there again. I apologise for the wait with this chapter, but I will be putting another one up tonight to make up for it. Thank you for reading this story, and please feel free to review at any time.**

**This is a sweet chapter with Charlene and Mycroft, catching up on the years. I hope you like it. If you have any ideas, anything you'd like to see in this story, please just review or PM me and I'll do my best.**

* * *

Ten minutes later, Mycroft and Charlene sat across the table from each other in the first room. Dr Simon was gone, and the pair had been left to talk.

Charlene spoke first. "I appreciate you won't want a family bonding session, but could I ask you a few questions?" Mycroft nodded. "What happened after I fell off the roof?"

Her brother sighed, casting his mind back. I told my – our – parents that I had killed you. They were…disappointed in me. Devastated, actually. Mummy never forgave me, but Father seemed to understand that it had been an accident. We arranged for your body to be taken away, but we were called back to England before we could have your funeral. I always felt disgusted for not being there. I should have insisted upon staying. I apologise."

Charlene shrugged. "I don't care much, to be honest. It's not like I was there or anything. Or if I was, I don't remember it. But what about Sherlock?"

Mycroft rubbed a hand over his face. "We told him you had gone away for a while, but he knew. He knew you weren't coming back. I heard him, crying himself to sleep for months afterward. I wished I could have gone and comforted him, but nothing I could have said would have helped. He hated me at the time." Mycroft's normally calm, controlled face was twisted with the anguish from long ago. "He never liked me after Cardiff. It was my fault, but I think Sherlock blamed himself as well."

Charlene frowned. "Why on Earth would he do that?"

"I think he thought he should have saved you, like you saved him. _I_ should have saved you. It all happened so fast…" His voice broke. "I'm sorry, Charlene."

He looked so upset that Charlene reached across the table and placed her hand on his arm. "It's okay," she said simply. "It's okay."

When Mycroft had composed himself, she ventured to ask another question. "How are our parents now?"

He sighed. "Father passed away, around seven years ago, leaving his entire estate to our mother. The estate, as you may recall, is of a considerable size. Mummy, however, will be going for a long time yet. I think she will outlive us all." The two Holmeses smiled, then Mycroft grew serious. "May I ask you a question now?"

"Shoot."

"What is your association with John Watson?"

Charlene blinked. "I'm sorry?"

"You claim to have only met him yesterday, and yet you appear to have moved in with him already. You slept over with him last night, I believe?"

"Well, yeah, but…no, not like that!" she added, realising what he meant. "I wasn't…I slept in Sherlock's bed, because we lost track of time and it was too late to go back to the hotel. Okay? Not…geez, how do you even know that?"

"Like I said, I have been keeping tabs on you."

"Ooh, Big Brother is watching you!" Mycroft didn't react. "You know, Big Brother? Watching…never mind. Pop culture reference." Mycroft still didn't react, and Charlene rolled her eyes. "Anyway, my association with John. Well, I turned up at 221B last night and fainted on him. He took me in and told me about Sherlock, and bought me dinner. I stayed over in Sherlock's room, like I said, and this morning we went to see you. That's about it. Why do you want to know?"

"I was merely wondering. When my brother first met Dr Watson, they agreed to share a flat after about five minutes in each other's company. I was wondering whether you had made a similarly quick decision."

"Well, I haven't. I barely know the man. Plus, Sherlock's my brother as well, you know."

"Of course. Apologies."

"I have another question, if you don't mind. About Sherlock."

Mycroft looked wary. "What is it?"

"What happened to him? How did he die? All John said was he jumped off St Bart's hospital…" she trailed off. "Didn't Dr Smith say this was St Bart's?"

"Yes, it is."

Charlene looked upwards. "He jumped off that roof?" she asked, pointing upwards incredulously.

"Yes."

"And you brought me _here_ to have a DNA test? Wasn't there anywhere else?"

"Unfortunately not at this short notice. I apologise."

"So, what happened?"

Mycroft sighed. "It's complicated." He explained to Charlene about Jim Moriarty, how he had set up a game for Sherlock, and later held him up by a poolside. He told her about keeping Moriarty as a prisoner, and letting him go. About the court case, and all that he knew about the events afterward. And lastly, he told his sister about Sherlock's death, jumping off a building while his best friend watched. He told of Moriarty's body, found unexplained on the rooftop. And he told of Sherlock's last message. _I'm a fake._

Charlene's emotions were a mixed bag after hearing this. Her brother, her twin brother, claimed to have killed himself because he was living a lie. But she knew that his talent for reading people was not fake. She herself had that, even though she hadn't known him. She knew that he was lying about lying. But why?

She looked up at Mycroft. "What do you think?"

He knew instantly what she meant. "I honestly do not know. I do not believe that Sherlock was 'a fake', as he put it. Yet I cannot fathom his motives as to why he would lead anybody to believe this, let alone Dr Watson."

Charlene frowned. "Is there any way to find out?"

Mycroft gave a bitter smile. "There are two people who might know, and they are both dead. One is James Moriarty, and the other is Sherlock Holmes."

"This whole thing is ridiculous. Sherlock wasn't a fake. Why did he die? Moreover, why did he throw himself of a rooftop, of all places? After…you know. Why?"

"Like I said, only Sherlock would know for certain. But while we do not have Sherlock, we have someone who is remarkably similar, in both appearance and mental ability."

Charlene blinked. "You mean me?"

"You're the next best thing."

Charlene looked down at the table. "Gee, I don't know. I mean, I'm not a detective or anything. I don't have anything near Sherlock's guessing ability, or 'deducing' as I believe he called it. I honestly don't think I'd be suitable."

"Yet you haven't said no."

"I haven't said yes either." Charlene swiftly countered. She sighed. "I'll think about it, okay? Just let me learn more about him first, please. He's my twin, yet I barely know the guy. I don't even know where he's buried. Or was he cremated?"

"He was buried. If you like, I can arrange to have someone take you shortly."

"No thanks. Not just yet. Maybe later, okay?" Mycroft nodded, and it was Charlene's turn to sigh. "You know something? Most of my life, I was an only child. Then my parents died. Then I found a new family, but lost half of them in two days. It's confusing, is all. But yeah, I will get round to seeing Sherlock's grave. And then I will work out what happened, I promise. Just…not yet. Okay?"

"I understand completely. Once you have had time to adjust, you can start work. Incidentally, what is your profession?"

"I work with computers, doing basic programming and such. Nothing fancy. I studied science at school and college, as well as computer programming. I've always wanted to get into science. How about you? What do you do?"

"I work in the British government, fulfilling minor roles."

"The way John spoke about you, you seemed pretty high-up. Also, you have the resources to arrange things, like this for example. I think you're higher up that you'd like to admit."

Mycroft inclined his head. "Quite possibly. But that is beside the point."

"Can I ask you another question?"

"That would depend on what it is."

"John Watson."

"What about him?"

"I'm sure you've checked him out when he was living with Sherlock, possibly even earlier. Is that right?"

"Quite possibly. What do you want to know?"

"Is he safe? I mean, he seems nice and all, but you can't trust everybody. Also, he was in the army, so he's probably seen violence and all. Sometimes, that can lead to violence. Is he safe?"

Mycroft considered. "He appears to be. He is definitely in possession of a gun, but he seems trustworthy. He is certainly loyal. I think you can trust him, yes."

"Thank you. I thought he seemed safe, but I wanted to check. Thanks."

"And thank you, Charlene."

"For what?"

"For years, I have not been able to adequately express my feelings. For years, I have not had many feelings. And yet, I have only known you for a few hours, and I have been telling you my life story. And my feelings. I do not know how you did that, but I am glad you did, for I feel better now. Thank you."

Charlene smiled. "Any time, Mycroft. You're my brother, after all."

"You mentioned having found a family, then having lost half of them. Well, it has been the opposite for me. I lost more than half my family, and then found my sister again. I do not feel guilty any more for killing you, or at least not as much. I trust you will keep in touch?"

"Of course I will. I just need to find a place to stay, and get settled down, then I'll contact you again. Where can I find you?"

"You do not need to. I will find you. As to the place to stay, I suspect you will not have a problem with that."

"What do you mean?"

"I have a suspicion that Dr Watson is going to invite you to stay at 221B Baker Street, in Sherlock's old room which you seem so fond of."

Charlene nodded, not looking too surprised. "I had guessed that myself. Do you think I should accept?"

"That is entirely up to you. However, I will say this: John Watson was Sherlock's closest friend, if not his only friend. He understood him when no-one else did, not even myself. And between you and me, he is having trouble adjusting to life without Sherlock. I believe that you living there would be beneficial to both of you. You can help him, and learn about Sherlock at the same time."

She nodded slowly. "That's true. Also, I like it there. It seems homely, and nice. John's nice too. I think I will accept. I just need to find a job, so I can share the rent."

"I feel certain Dr Watson would have no objection to that. In fact, I rather think he would enjoy having you there. As for the rent, do not worry. I have a fund set aside from which we can easily draw money."

"Are you sure? You don't mind?"

"Not at all."

"That's settled, then. I'll stay at Baker Street, and we can get this all sorted out." She smiled at Mycroft, and received a small smile in return, which delighted her.

Mycroft looked at his wristwatch. "Now, if my calculations are correct, my car should have picked up Dr Watson and he should be arriving here in approximately five minutes. I shall take my leave now." He got up and headed over to the door. "I must ask that you do not leave this room. And Charlene?"

"Yes, Mycroft?"

Another small smile. "Thank you." He closed the door silently behind him, and Charlene stood up and stretched, beaming. She had a brother now, for the first time in years.


	11. Chapter 11

Exactly three minutes after Mycroft left, Charlene heard footsteps outside the door. She looked up just as John burst into the room, then stopped dead.

He came in to see Charlene standing by a microscope on the table in the middle, slightly bent over. She was turned around to look at him, eyebrows raised. He stopped dead as he realised this was the exact same situation in which he had met her brother, years ago. From this angle, the resemblance was striking, despite her hair colour and clothing. It was eerie, to say the least.

Charlene quirked an eyebrow. "You okay?"

"Um, yeah, just…never mind. Um, so how'd it go?"

She smiled. "Well, apparently I am a Holmes."

He nodded. "Good to know."

"Yeah." A pause. "Did you come here for a specific reason?"

"Mycroft's car came and picked me up. I think I'm supposed to collect you. That is, if you don't mind."

"Of course not." Charlene pushed the microscope away and stepped back from the table. "So where are we going?"

"I'm pretty sure we're supposed to go back to Baker Street, if that's okay with you."

A small smile tugged at the side of her mouth. "Sure. Let's go."

John held the door open for Charlene, then cast one last wistful gaze upon the scene in the lab before closing the door firmly behind him.

o0o0o

Halfway across London, John spoke. "So what did you and Mycroft talk about?"

"Oh, you know. This and that. We had about thirty years' worth of gossip to catch up on, you know."

He smiled slightly, then abruptly grew serious. "Look, Charlene, I'm guessing you don't have anywhere in London to stay, right?"

"I've got the hotel I've been staying at," she said, playing along.

"Yes, but…you know. Somewhere fixed. I presume you will be staying?"

"For as long as I can, yes."

"Well, while you're here, I was wondering if…if you'd like to stay at my flat. 221B. With me. That is, if you don't mind."

Charlene was trying very hard not to smile as she watched John get flustered. "Sure, I'd like to. If you're sure, that is."

"Of course. I mean, yes."

She allowed herself a small smile. "That's settled then."

"Yes." He relaxed visibly, and she looked out the window, grinning to herself.

o0o0o

When they got back to Baker Street, John and Charlene first popped in to see Mrs Hudson to inform her of the tenant change, then headed upstairs. When they got to the landing outside the flat, John stopped, and Charlene bumped into him from behind. "What's up?"

"Did you bring a suitcase?"

"No, you know I didn't. What's up?"

"It appears someone did." John pointed, and Charlene peered over his shoulder at a small, brown suitcase lying on the ground.

"Oh! That's mine. I wonder how it got here?"

He turned around. "Are you certain it's yours?"

Charlene nodded. "Absolutely." She pointed at it. "You see that stain there? That's from when I had it next to me in a restaurant a few years ago, and some pillock spilled red wine on it. The cut in the corner there? Got a little too close to a lawnmower. And there should be a tartan ribbon on the far handle, from some woman who gave it to me randomly in the street. I think she was a bit mad, but I didn't have the heart to throw it away, so I put it there."

"And you couldn't just have used a name-tag like most people?"

"It fell off. Like I said, I got a little too close to a lawnmower."

John blinked. "Okay then. So how d'you think it got here?"

"Most likely Mycroft or one of his assistants dropped it over while we were out, which was nice of them, I suppose."

"Of course. What else. Anyway, I'm going to sit down. You can take that up to Sherlock's room if you want." He paused. "Your room. I'm sorry."

She shook her head. "It's okay, I understand." She smiled at him and lifted the bag, taking it slowly up to her new bedroom. John smiled and walked into the living room. He leaned his stick against the sofa, and was about to sit down in his chair when he heard a cry from above. "John?!"

John immediately dashed up the stairs, taking them two at a time. "Charlene? What's wrong?"

He found her standing at her bedroom door, staring at the bed. "Did you put them there?"

He looked, and saw a pile of clothes lying on the duvet, nicely folded. "No, I didn't. I've never seen them before."

They stepped closer, and Charlene picked up the top item. It was a black shirt, exactly her size.

"Do you think Mycroft's men did this as well?"

"I don't know. Probably." She noticed a small, black wallet lying beside the clothes, and picked it up curiously. She looked inside, and found three credit cards, along with debit cards for a couple of banks.

"What is it?" John asked.

Charlene pulled out a card. It had her name on it, and when she turned it over, she found her signature copied exactly. There was a note inside the wallet. 'My dear Charlene. I apologise for getting off on the wrong foot, as it were. I hope you will accept this as a token, and as a welcome back into the Holmes family.

"It appears my brother has been very generous," she said thickly. "No one's ever done something like this for me before. Ever. And I only met him this morning…"

John sneaked a peek at the note. "How on Earth did he do this so quickly?" he asked incredulously.

She shook her head, wiping her eyes fiercely. "Goodness only knows. But I am so grateful. It appears I can now properly pay for the rent on this flat, as well."

"Good on Mycroft then. And I never thought I'd be saying that, I can tell you."

She smiled briefly. "You can go back, if you want. I'll be down in a minute."

"Okay." He patted her arm on the way out, and she looked back at him before collapsing forwards onto the bed. This day had been even more full-on than the last, and it wasn't even over yet. At least now she had a place to stay, with a nice person. John was kind, she reflected, and not too bad-looking either.

She frowned. No, she didn't need to think about _that_ now.

She rolled over and looked more closely at the pile of clothes from Mycroft. It was mostly plain shirts and trousers, in plain, innocuous colours. Just her style. At the bottom, however, there was a long, grey overcoat.

She stood up and tried it on. It fitted her perfectly, of course, and looked somehow familiar. She shrugged and put it back on the bed, finding a squashed hat right at the bottom.

She held it up and grinned. It was a deerstalker.

Charlene put it on and glanced in the mirror, grinning madly, then went out the room and closed the door. Time to show John her gift.


	12. Chapter 12

Charlene went downstairs and into the kitchen, where John was boiling the kettle. "I'm just making coffee," he said, turning around to face her, "would you li-" He stopped, staring at her hat. "Where did you get that?"

She giggled. "It was in the pile. I thought you might like it."

He smiled. "Yes, I do. You know what? You look even more like Sherlock in that deer-stalker."

"Um, thanks?"

"Here." He handed her a mug of steaming coffee, and she lead the way through to the living room. John flopped onto his armchair, while Charlene perched on the sofa.

"Do you have any plans for this afternoon?" she asked him, taking a careful sip of coffee.

"Nothing. I thought I'd take it easy, seeing as it's a Sunday. How about you?"

"I only just came here. When would I have time to make plans?"

"Good point." There was a pause, where John tapped his fingers on the armrest and Charlene gazed around the room, drinking it in.

"It's exactly three months today since I remembered. I've come a long way since then."

"It's exactly three months today since Sherlock died."

"Oh." She hadn't thought of that. "I'm sorry."

"Why? It's not your fault."

"You lost your friend. That must have been hard."

"It was." His voice was hoarse, and Charlene didn't press further.

Eventually, John said, "I was going to go out tonight, to Sherlock's favourite restaurant. Would you like to come?"

"I'd be honoured. Where is it?"

"It's Angelo's a small café really. It does good food though. We're friends of the owner."

"Let me guess. His name is Angelo?"

"Got it in one. You know something, when we first went there, he thought Sherlock and I were a couple."

"From what you've said, it seems to be a fairly common mistake."

"Unfortunately so. He was one of the first though. That's why I remember. He's a good man though. Mostly."

"Mostly?"

"Sherlock managed to get him off a murder charge by proving that Angelo was in another part of London, house-breaking. That sort of good man."

"Ah. I see."

"Yeah."

Another pause, after which time John ventured to ask a question. "You never told me what happened to your parents, Mr and Mrs Waters."

"I suppose they were adoptive parents really. But they both passed away, from cancer."

John covered his mouth. "Really? That's rough."

"Yeah. Yeah, it was." Charlene sighed. "Dad had some sort of cancer in his leg, and with my mom it was her lungs. She frequently said that her lungs 'sucked at being lungs'."

"Shame," he said sympathetically.

"And today I found out that my biological father died. I remember him, a little bit. He was often working, but always managed to find time to play with his kids. Even when we climbed on the bookshelves in the library." Her face was lit with the glow of childhood memories.

"You had a library?"

"Yeah, a fairly large one. It seemed huge when I last saw it, but I was seven at the time. It probably wasn't that big."

"So, did you live in a large house then?" John asked casually.

"Yes, I suppose it was. I never thought about it as large, because that was what I was used to. The Holmeses are quite well off." She seemed uncomfortable. "How about you? Where did you grow up?"

"In a small house just outside of London," John answered. "Probably not what you'd be used to though."

"When I was in New York City, my family lived in a two-bedroom apartment. If a visitor ever came to stay, they'd stay in my room and I'd share with my parents. I'm not exactly _used_ to being well-off. I just am, apparently."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to sound…like that. Sorry."

"I don't mind." She downed the dregs of her coffee and stood up. "What time should we leave for Angelo's?"

John glanced at his watch. "A couple of hours will be good."

"Right. I'd better start getting ready then." John looked at her strangely, and she laughed. "Joking. I will, however, get rid of this hat. It's annoying me already. I mean, it's got flaps, for goodness' sake! What kind of a hat needs flaps?"

"An ear hat?"

"Excellent term. Must use that some time." She walked out of the room and up the stairs, holding the deerstalker as if it were poison. John chuckled and took the coffee cups to the sink to rinse them.

When she returned, John was sitting in his chair reading a newspaper. Charlene wandered over to the mantelpiece and picked up the skull. "Does it have a name?"

"What?"

"The skull. Does it have a name?"

John looked up from the paper. "I believe he's called Billy, but don't hold me to that."

"Okay, thanks." John went back to his paper, and Charlene continued browsing. She was having another look at the violin when there was a tentative knock at the door. "Hello?"

"Just come in, Mrs Hudson," John called, and the door creaked open. Their landlady poked her head around the door. "How are you two doing?"

"We're doing just fine, Mrs Hudson, thanks for asking," John said.

"You can come in if you won't. I won't bite," Charlene joked, and Mrs Hudson stepped inside the flat.

She turned to John. "How are you coping, dear? With Sherlock. Are you all right?"

Charlene quietly stepped out of the room into the kitchen to give them some privacy. She heard John say, "I think I'm okay, yeah."

"How about…Charlotte?"

"Charlene. She's…confused, I think. She's just come over from New York to find her family, and to find out that Sherlock died…it must be hard for her."

"Mm." She heard Mrs Hudson sigh. "Well, can you tell her from me, any time she needs to talk she can come down and see me? I'm always there to help. I like helping."

"That's very kind of you, Mrs Hudson." Charlene could hear the smile in John's voice. "I'll be sure to let her know that. How about you? How are you doing?"

Another sigh. "Oh, you know. Keep on carrying on. I keep remembering my husband, and how if Sherlock hadn't helped me, I might still be with him today. Goodness knows what that would be like."

"If it weren't for Sherlock, I'd still be living in my little army flat, with a depressing job, most likely."

"Sherlock helped everyone."

"Sherlock hated everyone."

"Maybe that was why he helped them."

"Maybe." It was John's turn to sigh. "You know what I said at his grave the first time? About being angry?"

"Of course I remember."

"Well, I'm not so angry now. Like you said, I think there must be a reason that he fell. Jumped, I mean. I feel like if I could work out why he did it…I don't know. I just want to work out why."

"How would you do that? Are you going to be a detective as well?"

"No, I'm nowhere near good enough. But Charlene-" he lowered his voice, and Charlene leaned in towards the door to hear him better. "Charlene can deduce stuff about people, like Sherlock could. Not quite as well, but a heck of a lot better than I can."

"So you two are going to work together?"

"Maybe. I don't know. I haven't asked yet. I was thinking of asking her tonight sometime, actually."

"Are you going anywhere tonight?"

"Yeah, we're going to Angelo's. Actually, would you like to come with us?"

"Oh, I don't think you'd want me hanging around. Would you?"

"Of course, we'd love you to come. Isn't that right, Charlene?" he called in the direction of the kitchen.

Charlene waited a moment, then popped her head out. "What's right?"

"You wouldn't mind having Mrs Hudson to stay, would you?"

"Of course not. I'd love you to come."

Mrs Hudson smiled. "Well, in that case, I can hardly refuse!" She got up to leave excitedly, then stopped at the door and put a hand over her mouth. "Oh, no, I just remembered! I was going to meet Molly tonight."

"Molly?"

"Yes, Molly Hooper. You remember her?"

"Of course I remember her, I just haven't spoken to her in a while. How is she?"

"She seems fine. I'm sure she'd like to meet Charlotte – Charlene, sorry dear – sometime. She was a good friend of Sherlock's," she added to Charlene.

John looked at Charlene questioningly, and she gave a small nod. He turned back to Mrs Hudson. "You can invite her as well, if you'd like. We don't mind."

"I'd like to meet her," Charlene added. "She sounds interesting."

"I'll just pop down and ask her then. Thank you very much, you two."

"Any time, Mrs Hudson," John said as they watched their landlady disappear down the stairs. "Any time."

Charlene walked over and sat down. "So what's this Molly like?"

"She's nice. A bit shy at times. Timid, rather than shy, actually. She works at the morgue at St Bart's."

"Ah, did you meet her there?"

"What? No, I was there a bit before her time. She met Sherlock there, actually. I believe a dead body brought them together." He smiled.

"Oh, were they…you know?"

"What?"

"Together."

"Oh. Oh! No, no, no. Sherlock wasn't…he wasn't like that. At all."

"Ah." She nodded. "How about you? Do you have a girlfriend?"

"Not at present, no." He sighed. "I've had a couple – a few, actually – but Sherlock always seemed to scare them off."

"Did he do that deliberately?"

"No, I don't think so. He was just being…well, Sherlock." There was a pause. "How about you? Do you have a boyfriend?" he asked casually.

"Boyfriend? No, not really my area."

John blinked at the familiar phrase. He thought for a moment, then decided he had to ask. "You got a girlfriend, then?"

She looked over at him. "What?"

"Which, by the way, is fine, you know-"

"No! No, I mean…no. I'm…I'm not gay, John."

"Right. Sorry for asking, it's just…"

"It's okay. What I said was kind of ambiguous, I guess. Sorry."

"No, I'm sorry."

"No, I am!"

They glared at each other for a second, then burst out laughing. Mrs Hudson popped her head in to find them practically rolling around laughing. She was about to say something, but thought better of it and wandered back downstairs.

"So," John said when they had calmed down, "have you had a boyfriend in the past?"

She sighed, "Yeah, I have. His name was Marcus. We met at university, and he later went on to work with robots. We broke up on my last birthday, but I'd known for a while he was going to. Completely transparent."

"That's sad; but why didn't you say anything?"

"It was funnier to watch him squirm," she said with a smirk, and they both laughed.

"Anyway," John said, "we should probably go and get ready. We want to leave in about half an hour from now."

Charlene glanced at her watch and headed upstairs, still grinning madly. John chuckled and put the coffee cups away, before following her up to get ready.

* * *

**A/N: I hope you liked that chapter, there will be another one coming soon. Please do review, it'll make my day! Thank you for reading! :D**


	13. Chapter 13

Half an hour later, Mrs Hudson stood at the front door, holding it open. "Hurry up, dears!" she called up the stairs. "We don't want to be late!"

John emerged first, wearing a black shirt and tie. He joined his landlady at the front door. "You may as well get into the cab, I think she'll be a couple more minutes."

Mrs Hudson thanked him and hurried out to the cab waiting in the street. John stood at the door and called up to Charlene again.

She appeared at the top of the stairs a moment later, and stopped a moment to fix her shoe before hurrying downstairs. "Sorry I took so long," she said when she reached John at the door, "these blasted shoes hindered me somewhat."

"Wow," he said, looking her up and down. She was wearing a tight-fitting purple shirt and a black skirt, with black heels and a handbag. She wore natural make-up, and if anyone had asked John at that moment, he'd have had to say she looked beautiful.

Charlene smirked. "Eyes front, soldier," she remarked, before heading out to the waiting cab, apologising to Mrs Hudson for keeping her waiting.

John shook his head slightly and locked the door, before hurrying to the cab and getting in. "That's all of us, you can go now. Thanks for waiting."

"No problem," the cabbie replied, and pulled out from the curve.

John turned to Charlene. "I, uh, I like your outfit," he remarked, trying to be casual.

She blushed slightly. "Um, thanks."

Mrs Hudson shook her head at them and looked out the window instead.

The trip to the restaurant took fifteen minutes, with John making small talk with his new flatmate, and Mrs Hudson tactfully pretending not to be there. Eventually they arrived, and Charlene helped Mrs Hudson out of the cab while John paid the driver.

They stepped into the small, cosy restaurant and were immediately greeted by a grey-haired man with a large smile. "Ah, Dr Watson, you have brought a friend!"

"Hello, Angelo. Actually, Charlene's my new flatmate. And do you know Mrs Hudson?" The appropriate introductions were made, and Angelo directed the trio to a table by the window. John sat with his back to the window, while Charlene got a seat that overlooked the street while not being immediately noticeable from outside. Mrs Hudson sat closest to the door.

After five minutes or so, another cab drew up outside and a young woman stepped out. She had long brown hair which was done up at the back, and wore a pretty black dress and a tad too much lipstick. She came inside the restaurant, and John stood up as she came over to them.

"Hello, everyone."

"Molly. Good to see you. How've you been?" John asked, sitting down and indicating the seat opposite him. Molly sat down carefully, trying not to crease her dress.

"I'm good. How are you doing?"

"Yeah, good, I think."

"That's good." Suddenly Molly noticed Charlene quietly sitting there, watching the exchange.

Charlene extended her hand. "I'm sorry, I don't believe I've had the pleasure."

The other woman shook it uncertainly. "I'm Molly Hooper. A…friend…of Sherlock's. Did you know him?"

"Sort of. You see, I'm Charlene Holmes. I was his sister."

Molly gasped slightly. "Sister? He never mentioned a sister."

"I'm actually his twin. It's a long story."

Molly bit her lip, frowning. "Go on."

"Before you do that, I think we should order our food, or we'll be waiting here all night," John interjected. There was a general sense of agreement, and everybody ordered, before settling back to watch Charlene.

She told them the story of how she had fallen off a roof after an accident while playing Pirates, and about her life in America since then. Molly and Mrs Hudson, who had never heard this before, listened with interest. When Charlene ended with how she arrived at Baker Street and promptly fainted into John's arms, they all laughed. At that moment, the starters for their meals arrived, and they were distracted for a few minutes with that.

Molly swallowed a bite of salad and asked, "But one thing you didn't explain was how you survived falling off that roof in Cardiff. Why didn't you die, if you don't mind me asking?"

Charlene sighed. "I didn't tell you because I don't know myself. I honestly don't remember. My memory skips straight from knowing I was about to die, to being on a ship on the way to America. I wish I did know, though. I've been asking myself the same question ever since I remembered, three months ago."

"Exactly the time that Sherlock fell," Mrs Hudson added, giving a little shiver. "How did that happen, I wonder?"

"As do I," Charlene replied with a sigh.

John changed the subject, and they got onto talking about Sherlock. By the time the starters were cleared away and the main courses arrived, they were going around the table, sharing a memory of Sherlock.

Molly mentioned the time Sherlock met her new boyfriend, Jim, and instantly knew that he was gay (or pretending to be, anyway). He had turned out to be Moriarty, of course, but nobody mentioned that.

Mrs Hudson remembered the time that a young man turned up on her doorstep for the first time since they had last met in America, asking to look at a flat for him and a stranger the next day. "It seems that Holmeses are always hasty in their flat-sharing decisions," she joked, and Charlene giggled.

Next it was John's turn. He told a story of a dark time, when Sherlock had been through a traumatising experience. He didn't say what it had been, but everybody could guess. He told of Sherlock's unfortunate way of coping, and his slow recovery with John's help. The story, while true and appreciated, cast a shadow on the table.

Charlene lightened the mood considerably with her tale. She described in great detail a time when Mycroft had been doing a particularly tricky Latin assignment, while she and Sherlock were playing at being pirates. They had snuck into his room via the ivy outside his window (the door had a silent alarm that Mycroft himself had rigged up), and tied him up as their captive. They only let him go after their mother told them to, and even then after Mycroft had promised to give them the key to the pantry.

John looked at Charlene as she spoke. She was sure of herself and her story, and spoke confidently, smiling at the memory of her brother. She finished her story and took a bite of pasta, before noticing John staring at her. "What?" she asked.

"Nothing," John said quickly, looking away. "So, Molly, how are things at the morgue?"

"Well, we're busy, which is good. I mean, it's not good in that people are dying, but it's good in that we get work to do. Which isn't really that good at all, I suppose."

Everybody smiled. "So which morgue do you work at? The one in St Bart's?"

"Yes. Wait. I didn't...how did you…you know, you're a lot like Sherlock."

"Yeah, I get that a lot. And I've only been here for a couple of days."

"How long have you been in England, dear?" That was Mrs Hudson.

"Four days, I believe. I was staying at a hotel, but now I've moved into Baker Street."

"So you're John's new flatmate? He did mention having found someone," Molly asked.

"Yup, that's me."

At that moment, Angelo came over with the dessert menus. "Excuse me, but I couldn't help listening in on your conversation. Did you say you were Sherlock's sister?"

"I am indeed."

"Funny, he never mentioned you."

"That'd be because I was dead."

Angelo stared at her, startled, before dropping the menus on the table and hurrying away. John and Charlene burst out laughing, and Molly giggled. Even Mrs Hudson smiled.

They ordered dessert, and made light conversation for the rest of the meal. Mrs Hudson sat quietly and watched John and Charlene talking together, laughing together. She noticed the way Charlene put her hand on John's shoulder when she laughed, and the way John seemed to lean towards Charlene. The wise old landlady noticed all this, and quietly smiled to herself. It's about time, she thought.

Eventually, the last crumb was eaten, the last drop of coffee drunk. The four of them split the bill, then looked outside at a sudden downpour of rain. "I'll phone for a taxi," John said then disappeared towards the back of the shop.

The three women were left standing alone. Molly turned to Mrs Hudson. "Is he all right?"

She sighed. "I think so. He's certainly better than he was a few days ago."

"Seriously? But how? What's changed…oh, I see," she said, looking sideways at Charlene.

"What?" she asked innocently.

Mrs Hudson turned to her and gently said, "Dear, you must understand that before you came, John was…he was not good. Sherlock's death affected him in a big way. He lost his best friend, remember. And now you've come…I think he's realised a lot of things. Like there are other things to be worrying about. And you've cheered him up, no end, especially going to live with him like this. So thank you, dear."

Charlene covered her mouth. "I had no idea."

"And he never would have said anything," Molly added. "I think you can help him, though. Heal him."

She nodded resolutely. "I'll do my best."

Mrs Hudson patted her arm. "I'm sure you will, dear."

John came back at that moment, and they all stopped talking very suddenly. "Cab's on its way," he said. "It'll be here soon."

* * *

**A/N: If you were wondering what John's memory of Sherlock was all about, that will be coming in a future story, which I am currently writing. I will let you know when it is up. Thanks for reading!**


	14. Chapter 14

Sure enough, ten minutes later a taxi pulled up outside the restaurant, windscreen wipers on full speed. Molly helped Mrs Hudson into the back, then got in herself. Charlene was about to step inside when the driver appeared from round the front, with his hand up. "No more. No more people. No room," he said in heavily accented English. Somewhere in Eastern Europe.

"But I called and asked for four people! I'm paying!" John said indignantly.

The driver kept shaking his head. "No more people, no room," he kept repeating.

"We can't get another cab, not at this time of night. The man said," John explained. "We have to take this one."

Molly started to get out of the car, but Charlene stopped her. "Is there a bus stop near here?" she asked John.

"There's one a few blocks away. We should be there in time for the next bus," he replied, checking his watch.

"Okay then. You two take the car, John and I can walk to the bus stop and catch a bus. It's not that heavy, anyway. Right, John?"

John sighed and shrugged. "Sure. We'll walk." He handed Mrs Hudson his wallet and waved the cab goodbye, then turned to Charlene. "I hope you realise what you're letting yourself in for," he said.

"It's only a light shower. We'll be fine, right?"

John opened his mouth to speak when the rain suddenly grew much heavier, lashing down on the pair near the small restaurant. They looked at each other, shocked, and John started to laugh. Charlene joined in, and they were giggling like idiots, standing in the middle of the street, steadily growing wetter.

"Famous last words," John yelled over the rain, and Charlene nodded in agreement.

"We can't go home in this, can we?" she called, and John shook his head.

Charlene had an idea, and pulled out her phone. Trying and failing to shield the screen from the rain, she pulled up her contacts and was not at all surprised to find her brother's number. She quickly tapped out a message and sent it.

"What did you say?" John asked loudly.

"I asked Mycroft to send a car." Her phone dinged with a text. "It'll be here in five minutes."

"Great." They went back to the restaurant and stood outside, under the shelter. John noticed Charlene was shivering.

"Oh, you're cold! I'm so sorry, I should have done this sooner. Here, have my coat."

She shook her head, her teeth chattering. "No, I'm fine."

"Come on, don't be ridiculous." He took his coat off and wrapped it around Charlene's shoulders. She waited a second, then pulled it tighter around her. "Thanks," she muttered. "I should have brought my coat."

"Don't mention it."

"Sorry to be a burden."

"What? No, you're not a burden. If you weren't here, I'd be stuck walking to the bus stop right now. Or I'd be stranded somewhere. Thank you for coming."

"Thanks for letting me into your flat."

"I didn't have much of a choice," he joked, and they both laughed.

"Seriously though, thanks. I came here with nothing, and now, thanks to you, I have a family and a home."

"Well, when you put it like that…you're welcome."

Charlene smiled, and then heard a car approaching from down the road. She looked, and John followed her gaze to see a nondescript black car approaching. "How many of these does your brother have?" he muttered.

"I've only seen one so far. Same licence plate. He might have more though. Certainly a different driver, at this time of night."

"Right." The car pulled up in front of the restaurant, and the back door opened again. John gestured for Charlene to get in, then clambered in himself. When his eyes adjusted to the gloom, he could see there was another person in the back. Oh God, he thought as he inclined his head. "Anthea."

"Hello again, Dr Watson. Don't forget your seatbelt."

Charlene noticed the tension between the two, and smiled mischievously as the car pulled out from the kerb and started towards Baker Street.

o0o0o

Eventually John and Charlene arrived home to find Mrs Hudson standing in the open doorway, looking worriedly out at the pouring rain. When they got out of the car, her face relaxed into a relieved smile. "I was worried you two would be caught walking in this rain!" she called as they approached the door. "Why don't you come in, and when you're dry you can come downstairs and have a cup of tea with me."

"That'd be great, Mrs Hudson, thanks," John said as he went through the door, Charlene following close behind. The landlady smiled and went back into her flat to put the kettle on, and John and Charlene went to the stairs. John, ever the gentleman, gestured that Charlene should go up first, and then followed her up.

The stairs began to narrow towards the top, and Charlene was finding it difficult to walk in the high heels. She briefly cursed herself for not having the foresight to take them off at the bottom.

No sooner had she had that thought than her left heel snagged the carpet and she stumbled, twisting and falling against the wall. She winced as her back hit the hand-rail, hard. As she fell back, John, coming up behind her, fell also.

It took a second for John to realise that he had in fact fallen on top of Charlene, his arms on either side of her, pinning her to the wall. His eyes widened and he scrambled off her, then noticed her smirking. "What's funny?" he asked indignantly.

"You."

"Sorry for falling on you."

"That's quite all right."

John noticed he was still standing quite close to Charlene, and stepped away hurriedly. "I'll…ah…go get have a shower now, if that's all right." He turned and rushed into his room.

"A cold one?" Charlene asked teasingly. The last thing she heard before she closed her bedroom door was the sound of John spluttering indignantly.

o0o0o

Fifteen minutes later, Charlene knocked on Mrs Hudson's door, with dry clothes and damp hair. The door was opened immediately, and she was ushered in by Mrs Hudson. "Come in, come in!"

"Uh, thank you." She stepped inside and looked at the crackling fire in the fireplace, the armchair with plenty of cushions, the book open on the side-table. The whole flat looked cosy and homely.

Sitting on the sofa was John, also with damp hair, holding a mug of steaming liquid. Charlene sat down next to him and smiled, but he avoided her eyes. Frowning, she turned to Mrs Hudson. "Thank you for inviting us down."

"That's perfectly fine, dear. Would you like a cup of tea, or cocoa perhaps?"

"Cocoa would be lovely, thanks Mrs Hudson."

The landlady busied herself with making a cup of cocoa. Charlene marvelled at the speed at which she seemed to have accepted Charlene as one of her own, and started to care for her. "Thank you," she said as she accepted the hot drink, and took a careful sip.

"Now, this isn't going to be a regular thing, you know," Mrs Hudson said gently. "I'm your landlady, not your housekeeper."

"And a very fine landlady you are too," John said with a smile.

"The very best," Charlene added.

Mrs Hudson smiled bashfully. "I just do what I can to help people, you know that."

"So how's your phone doing? You haven't asked me about it for ages. Have you mastered it finally?" John asked.

"It's okay, mostly. There's just one little problem…" She pulled a smartphone out of her pocket and handed it to John. He took one look at it and sighed.

"What on Earth did you do to it this time?"

"I really don't know."

John and Mrs Hudson fiddled with the phone for a bit, while Charlene drank her cocoa and watched them, smiling. She liked this new life in London: mysterious, rainy, and cosy, all at once. And she felt more at home than she had done in almost thirty years.

In New York, she'd lived in an apartment alone, and felt unsafe on the streets. She had to carry Mace everywhere, and sometimes a knife. Here, though, she had John, and she had Mycroft, and she felt perfectly safe.

When she and John eventually went upstairs to bed, they stopped outside their bedrooms. Charlene turned to John. "Thank you," she said. "For everything."

He turned slightly red. "It was nothing, honestly."

"No, I mean it. I came into your life quite suddenly, only yesterday, and you've made me feel at home already. You didn't have to. You could have sent me away yesterday. But you didn't. So thank you."

"Actually, you've helped me more than you know."

"I know."

"What?"

"Never mind."

There was a slightly awkward pause, then John spoke again. "Look, I've got work tomorrow at the clinic. Will you be okay here on your own? I mean, you know your way around and everything?"

"I'll be fine. I'll stay away from hot pans and sharp knives, don't you worry."

John smiled. "You know what I mean."

"I know. Yeah, I'll be fine." She turned around and opened her door, when John said, "Oh, and Charlene?"

She turned back. "Yeah?"

"When I'm out tomorrow, do you think you could pop to the corner store and get some milk, if it's not too much trouble?"

"Sure," she said easily. His face relaxed into a smile.

"Great. Thanks." He grinned and went into his room, leaving Charlene wondering why he was so happy. All she was going to do was get some milk. That was normal flatmate behaviour, right? She shrugged and went to bed.

* * *

**A/N: And on that note, I'm going to have to leave this story for a few weeks, as I'm coming up to exams. Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed it, and please review!**


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